XsX^^ 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Shelf ,ik?-M 3 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



|1aIlo 




By 

CHARLES HENRY LUDERS 

AND 

S. D. S!, Jr. 



^ ^ ^Sik—^? 



/ -^ 



^NV'-^S 



Halloo ! my fancie, whither zvilt thou go ? 

— William Cleland. 



Quid vetat? 



qtianquam ridentevi dicere verutii 
— Horace — Satires. 



«r c© 



MAY 11 1887^ 



PHILADELPHIA: 

DAVID McKAY, 23 South Ninth Street. 

1887. 



tms'' 






Copyright, 1887, 
DAVID McKAY. 



THE ALDINE PRESS ; PHILADELPHIA. 



THE APOLOGY, 

TN fancfs fields, 7vith eager feet 

The poets wander; there they 7tieet 
The fickle maid, and cry, *' ^ Hallo! 
My fancy, whither wilt thou go?"* 
Thi'ough woodland dim, or meadow sweet?'' 

^ Hallo P within their deep retreat 
The drowsy echoes, waked, repeat. 
^ Hallo P cry all the winds that blow 
In fancy"* s fields . 

These are the answers, incomplete, 
We two have gained; each quaint conceit, 
Each word with life or love aglow. 
But echoes, tenderly and low. 
Fair fancy' s footsteps, flying fleet 
In fancy s fields. 

S. D. S.,Jr. 

(iii) 



Many of the following verses having originally 
appeared in "Life," "Puek," and. other humorous 
journals, and a few in various Magazines, the 
authors take this opportunity of acknowledging the 
courtesy of the publishers by -whose pern:iission 
they are enabled to reprint them. 



(iv) 



^oQteQts: 









Page 


The Apology 


S. 


D. S., Jr. 


iii 


A BOUTONNIERE . . . , 




C. H. L. 


9 


Unafraid .... 


. 


(( 


lO 


Cynicism . , 


. s. 


D. S., Jr. 


II 


Christmas Roses . 


. 


(( 


13 


The Phantom Lute . 




C. H. L. 


14 


Transition .... 


s. 


D. S., Jr. 


15 


Deception 




C. H. L. 


16 


The Draught 


, 


« 


17 


An Echo of Bar Harf.or 


s. 


D. S., Jr. 


18 


Serenade .... 




<( 


19 


Ivory and Gold 




C. H. L. 


20 


Sun Kissed .... 


s. 


D. S., Jr. 


21 


The Tryst 




C. H. L. 


22 


V. Lempriere 


s. 


D. S., Jr. 


23 


The New Arcadia 




C. H. L. 


24 


Francois Villon . 


s. 


D. S., Jr. 


26 


To Q. H. F. 




C. H. L. 


27 


A Portrait .... 


s. 


D. S., Jr. 


28 


Eleanore .... 




C. II. L. 


30 


Star- Dust .... 


, . 


(( 


32 



(V) 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



My New Year's Dinner . 

Runaway Brook . 

Old Ocean's Edge 

Abandoned • . . . 

Unspoken .... 

The Captive Quail 

The Masquerade 

Under the Pines , 

At the Edge of a Shower 

A Woman's Wp:apons 

Quatrains 

The Poet to his Lyre . 

Cupid Deceived 

Love and a Compass 

In Winter 

Outward Bound . 

Ophelia .... 

Triolets .... 

A Corsage Bouquet 

A Kiss 

To an Autumn Leaf 

A Late Supper 
Jack Loquitur .... 
March Winds and April Showers 
The Poet's Aim 
A Shorthand Sonnet . 
Farm Fruits .... 
Ten Lines on Tennis 
A Roman Singer 

An Inventory — with Comments . 
Of Misstresse Luce : — Her Eyes 
Meleager to Lesbia 



S. D. S., 
. C. H 
S. D. S., 
. C. H 
S. D. S., 
C. . H 
S. D. S., 

. C. H 

it 

S. D. S., 
(< 

. C. H 

S. D. S., 
(( 

C. . H. 

S. D. S., 
. C. H. 



Jr. 
. L. 
Jr. 
. L. 
Jr. 
. L. 
Jr. 
. L. 

Jr. 



Jr. 

, L. 

Jr. 

L. 



33 
35 
37 
39 
41 
42 

44 
47 
48 

49 
50 
51 

52 
53 
54 
55 
56 
58 



S. D. S., Jr. 60 

. C. H. L. 62 

S. D. S., Jr. 63 

" 64 

C. H. L. 65 

. " 67 

68 

S. D. S., Jr. 72 

73 
. C. H. L. 74 



Trio . 

Sacrifice 

Clover Hay 

Sa Carte des Danses 

• My Lady Weeps — at 

A Time- Worn Tale 

Quatrains 

Time and Eternity 

An Old Thought 

Love's Rosary 
Chanson de la Franco- Americaine 

Rescued 

It's a Way We Have — In Society 
The Hollow of the Sea 

To Pegasus 

The Redbreast . . . 
Unanswered ..... 
An Autumn Ramble in The Catskills 
The First Lyric .... 



CONTENTS. 




VI 1 


, ^ 


. S. D. S., Jr. 


75 


. 


i( 


76 


• 


C. H. l. 


77 


. 


S, D. S-, Jr. 


78 


Times' . 


« 


79 


. 


« 


80 


. 


C. H. l. 


81 



S. 


D. S-, Jr. 


82 




C. H. L. 


84 


S. 


D. S„ Jr. 


86 


. 


C. H, L. 


87 


S- 


D. S., Jr. 


SS 


, 


C. H. L. 


90 


S. 


D. S., Jr. 


91 




C. H. L. 


93 




<( 


96 



e}l. I: 



A BOUTONNIERE. 

A DEWY fragrance drifts at times 
Across my willing senses, 
And leads the rillet of my rhymes 
From city gutters, gusts and grimes 
To lowland fields and fences. 

I seem to see, as I inhale 

This perfume faint and fleeting, 
Green hillsides sloping to a vale. 
Whose leafy shadows screen the pale 
Wood-flowers from noonday's greeting. 

I hear the song — the sweet heartache — 

Of just a pair of thrushes ; 
And hear, half dreaming, half awake. 
The ripple of a streamlet break 

Their momentary hushes. 



10 



^. H. I, 

And why, dear heart, do I to-day, 
. Hemmed in by court and alley. 
Seem lost in haunts of faun and fay? 
Look! — on my coat I've pinned your spray 
Of lilies-of-the-valley. 



UNAFRAID. 

A CHILD, in some far heathen isle. 
Murdered to win a false god's smile. 
Laughed as the strangler's cord was laid 
About its throat; and, unafraid, 
Caught at the crimson loop of death 
That straightway stilled its joyous breath. 

So the fool wantons, nor may check 
The harlot's clasp about his neck. 



S. D. S.,Jr. II 



CYNICISM. 



A Duet. 



'Le duvet du ccetir, ah ! quel donaire ! 
Heuretcx qui Pa — sot qui PespereP^ 

— Augusts Sauliere. 



'< T T APPY the man who wins a heart 
JL J. Untouched by passion. 
But let him hide himself apart — 
He's not in fashion. 



''And you, O too confiding youth, 
When you would marry, 
Where is the maid whose bosom's truth 
Her lips do carry? 

'* You think her love has just been won, 
And yours the glory j 
But — maids were maids since A. D. i. 
And here's her story: 



12 S. D. S.,Jr. 

"At ten her childish love she gave 
Unto her cousin, 
A youngster handsome, tender, brave 
His years a dozen. 

''A quarrel over toy or game, 
And then they parted ; 
He to illume some other flame — 
She — broken-hearted. 



"Love's wounds at ten last but a day. 
Another lover 
(Like unto like, physicians say,) 
Her hurt did cover. 

"And so, to take revenge on men 
For her delusion, 
She traps, then sets them free again 
In great profusion. 

"And I, a victim of its wiles. 
Would give you warning 
That love, in all its various styles. 
You'd best be scorning." 



\. D. S., Jr. 13 



*'And in return, my cynic friend 
Of counsel plenty, 
What age does all this wisdom lend?" 
*«0h! — I'm—just twenty." 



CHRISTMAS ROSES. 

WHAT! roses now? Ah! yes, and fairer 
Than e'er the earth has known before; 
They bloom with tints and colors rarer 
Than roses ever wore. 

They bloom with ever-deepening pleasure ; 

They pale to still more perfect white; 
And Christmas joy in fullest measure. 

These roses know to-night. 

Ah! happy flowers! what though your beauty 
Fades in the ballroom's heated air? 

Though death's the price of such sweet duty. 
You've graced my darling's hair. 



H ^. H. I: 



THE PHANTOM LUTE. 



Venice, i6 — 



A LOVER singing a serenade 
Unto an air divinely played, 
Stands where shadows are deepest laid. 

So rapt he is — so wrought with love 

For the lady listening just above, 

That nothing he hears. The rippling shove 

Of gondola-oars that rise and dip — 
The wash of eddies that backward slip, 
Send no pallor to cheek or lip. 

Sudden he stops— a blow! — a groan ! — 

A splashing of oars ! and a lute, down-thrown, 

Floats on the shuddering waves alone. 

Floats and floats — and forever shall, 
A spirit haunting the old canal — 
Humming the ghost of a madrigal. 



S. D, S.,Jr. 15 



TRANSITION. 

HER eyes looked out across thisworld of ours — 
Seen through her lashes as a silken veil — 
Wondering that striving mortals e'er could fail, 
Startled to see the earth bear aught but flowers. 

Her childish heart lay fallow, as a field 
Yearning for seed to nourish, and n^^ke fair; 
For ripened fruit upon its breast to bear. 
And more to give as more it still may yield. 

And all her senses seemed to watch and wait 
For something that would touch and stir them all. 
And something, lifeless yet, to being call ; 
She wished it come, yet, timid, feared her fate. 

And ere she knew the name of Love, one day 
(All flushed her cheek, and tear-bedewed her eyes,) 
He kissed her lips. With tender, sweet surprise 
The woman lived — the child had passed away. 



i6 



<?.}!. 



DECEPTION. 

IT took just a day to discover 
That all my precautions were nil. 
I loved her — ah, how I did love her — 
And I must confess, love her still. 

As we walked where the moon lit the woolly 
White back of each incoming wave, 

She seemed to reciprocate fully 
The tender affection I gave. 

We parted. Last week she was married: 
The wedding was private and "nice." 

On leaving, the couple were harried 
With slippers and handfuls of rice. 

And now she is back in the city; 

Installed in the cosiest home, 
With a husband who thinks it a pity 

An hour from his *' precious" to roam. 



^. |i. I, '7 



And /, well, I count, myself lucky, 
And need no consoling, for she — 

The dear little darling, the <* ducky"— 
Was good enough to — marry me. 



THE DRAUGHT, 

WHEN I am thirsty, let me drink 
Prone upon the mossy* brink 
Of a rocky basin, laid 
Within the forest's heart of shade. 

There may I know the cool caress 
The spring gives to my eagerness; 
Feeling its bubbles rise and float 
Around my chin — across my throat. 
Till the swiftly pulsing blood 
Circles calmly as the flood ; 
Till by every sense I'm told 
That never flagon tipped with gold 
So divine a draught doth hold. 



S. D. S.,Jr, 



AN ECHO OF BAR HARBOR, 

THEY accuse me of flirting with Harry, 
WIio hasn't a cent to his name, 
And certainly don't mean to marry. 
Such slander as that is a shame. 

They say I've been often seen walking 
With Harry alone on the rocks; 

We've been seen on the sand sitting talking, 
Regardless of custom— and frocks. 

They say we were walking together 
The day of that trip to the lake, 

And our losing our way in the heather 
They're certain was not a mistake. 

At Rodick's — they frequently mention — 
When laughter is noisy and loud, 

We, with care to attract no attention. 
Slip coolly away from the crowd. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 19 



One nasty old tabby reported 

She saw himj one evening last week, 

(Good gracious, how truth is distorted!) 
Press a kiss on my too-willing cheek. 

Such stories as these are invention, 
The truth in them simply is nil; 

If I have done the thing that they mention, 
It z^/^j-z^V with Harry — 'twas Will! 



SERENADE. 

O MORPHEUS, open wide thine arms 
To her who keeps her lover waking; 
And lucky thou by whom such charms 
Can now be had just for the taking. 

But hold thy power! a moment stay, 
While I my tuneful lute am stringing! 

Then let her drift to dreams away, 

Lulled to sweet slumber by my singing. 



20 



^. }i. I: 



IVORY AND GOLD. 

I PLUCKED you in the August noon, 
When all the hills were hazy 
With mists that shimmered to the croon 
Of doves — belated daisy. 

You grew alone; the orchard's green, 
Which May and June had whitened. 

Save for your modest bloom was e'en 
Content to go unbrightened. 

For this, the one I love, at last, 
With countless charming graces. 

Upon her bosom made you fast 
Amid the folded laces. 

You had not dreamed that you would rest- 
What thought could so embolden? — 

Above the treasures of a breast 
So white, a heart so golden. 



S. D. S.,Jn 21 



SUN KISSED. 

SHY flower, whose beauty lies 
Hid 
Until the sun may rise 
To kiss thy sealed eyes, 
Let then thy golden heart, 

Amid 
Petals which slowly part. 
Show what a gem thou ar^. 

So, love, thy tender breast 

Hides 
Jewels of love, which rest 
There all unknown — unguessed; 
Yet when love's light on thee 

Abides, 
What gem of earth or sea 
Showeth such brilliancy? 



22 



<e, ^. 1^. 



THE TRYST. 

BLOW! winds, and break the blossoms; 
Part! clouds that hide the sun; 
For the timid feet of a maiden sweet 
Adown the valley run. 

The thorn of the wild rose wounds her; 

The hem of her skirt is torn 
Where the cool gray dew has wet it through 

With the tears of a summer morn. 

No foot is heard to follow; 

No eye her path may see; 
There is no ear her steps to hear 

As she hastens unto me. 

O wild, sweet banks of roses ! 

O fragrant fields of dew ! 
My darling's kiss is more, I wis, 

Than a thousand leagues of you! 



S. D. S.,Jr. 23 



V. LEMPRIERE, 



By an Absent-minded Poet. 



HER attributes are such that I 
To many goddesses compare 
Her qualities of form and mind. 

Their names? oh- vide Lempriere! 

Her face is such as must have been 

That of the fairest of the fair, 
That lovely goddess — what's her name ? 

The Queen of love — in Lempriere. 

Her mind is stored with all the best 
Of learning's treasures, rich and rare. 

Such as Min — something — once could boast 
(You'll find her name in Lempriere). 

I love her — not because she's wise, 
And not because her face is fair; 

But for a — something — all her own, 
That isn't found in Lempriere. 



M ?. )). (. 



F 



THE NEW ARCADIA. 

AR up a mountain side there gleams 
A gilded lake, where waits and dreams 
The heron 'mid the sedge 
That fringes all its edge. 



Stirred by the rippling of the flood. 
Rare water-plants show tints of blood. 

And lilies fair unfold 

Their ivory and gold. 

And scarce twelve paces from the lake, 
Mid tufts of laurel-bloom and brake, 
Bright crystal, bubbling up, 
Fills an enchanted cup. 

Here, in a hollow of the urn, 
Close sheltered under moss and fern, 
(A tiny woodland gnome) 
The hylas makes his home. 



<5. \i. I, 25 



The forest hues of green and brown 
Cast their reflected phantoms down 
And screen the silver sand 
Where lurks the mottled band. 

' Twas over such an emerald brink 
Latona, bending, sought to drink, 

When, ere they knew her spell, 
The rustics fouled the well. 

In such a spot as this, I know, 
Narcissus plained his tender woe, 
And of his passion died 
At the clear water's side: 

On such a bloom-enamelled shore 

Adonis, smitten by the boar. 

Felt Venus kiss his wound 
Ere ever he had swooned. 



26 S. D. S.Jfc 



FRANgOIS VILLON. 



Rondeau, 



FRANgOIS VILLON. To him we owe 
The sly Ballade — the light Rondeau — 
The dainty, witching Vilanelle — 
The tender, echoing Rondel — 
Ah! would as he wrote we could so! 

For those on whom the Gods bestow 
The gift of rhyming — ^vray oufaulx'' — 
All imitate — or ill or well — 
Francois Villon. 

'Where are the snows of long ago?' 
They fell but lightly. Through them glow 

The graces of his master spell. 

He said, 'I know, and know full well, 
All save myself alone.' We know 
Francois Villon. 



<5. Ji. l; 27 



TO Q\_UINTUS\ H[_ORATIUS\ F\_LACCUS.'\ 



Rondeau. 



TO Q. H. F. the idle band 
Of poetasters oft has planned 
Tributes of praise — and penned them, too- 
For love of verse that keeps its hue 
Though dead its language and its land. 

True, Pegasus has ever fanned 
The ether at a bard's command. 
But ah! how eagerly he flew 
To Q. H. F. 

Not oversweet or overgrand 
Your poems, Horace, hence you stand 
Firm in the hearts of men : and few 
Have gained a place so clearly due 
Since Death, with unrelenting hand, 
Took you, H. F. 



28 S. D. S.,Jr. 



A PORTRAIT. 

NO doubt you'll think it strange that she 
Should have so many striking features; 
Perhaps my partiality 

Lends her such charms, that other creatures 
She may defy. 

/ find new beauties every day, 

In figure, face and conversation. 
A few I'll tell you — if I may — 

The rest your own imagination 
Must then supply. 

Beginning at the top — her tresses 

Are purer gold than gold itself; 
With every breeze a curl caresses 

A cheek and brow that ne'er an elf 
Would dare disown. 

For eyes she has two shooting stars, 
■ That in their flight were stayed and ravished. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 29 



Those dimples are the blind god's scars 
To spoil the charms that had been lavished 
On her alone. 

Her neck, you'd swear, was made of kid. 

Her hands would 'knock you out' completely, 

And yet, they are entirely hid 
In gloves that fit a baby neatly; 
Just think of that! 

Her feet are so extremely small 

That they are hardly worth the mention, 

And how she ever walks at all 

Is past the bounds of my invention — 
It knocks me flat. 

Her speech in equal parts she shares 

With wit and wisdom, separated 
By sighs that take me unawares, 

And pierce my bosom, lacerated 
By her dear sins. 

But wounds like these she quickly cures, 
I know they're only made to tease me. 

And my opinion's (is it yours?) 

I'm sure she no whit more could please me 
If she were twins! 



30 ^. ]^. i. 



ELEANORE, 

YOU are perfect — you're divine! 
Eleanore; 
And your loyal heart is mine 

To the core; 
As the robin's song in May 
Is your prattle when at play, 
And I love you every day 
More and more. 

It was from the heart of June, 

Eleanore, 
That the shallop of the moon 

Lightly bore 
You across the harbor-bar, 
And a night-bird sang afar. 
And from heaven there fell a star, 

Eleanore. 



And a flower of June — a rose — 

Eleanore, 
Did a single bud unclose, 

Though it bore 
Ne'er a blossom, till the morn 
Of the day that you were born 
Gave a crown unto its thorn, 

Eleanore. 



In the azure and the gold, 

Eleanore, 
Of your eye and hair is told 

O'er and o'er 
Your life-voyage, I surmise, 
Where from bluest seas and skies. 
Golden suns will sink and rise 

Evermore. 



May the blossom of your heart, 

Eleanore, 
Be a rose whose petals part 

But to pour 
Sweets of love; and if there be 
Tears as well as smiles for thee. 
May they be the dew that He 

Doth restore. 



31 



32 <$. \{. I, 



So a kiss before you go, 

Eleanore, 
Reaching up to me tiptoe 

From the floor, 
With the gold around your head 
And your dimpled cheeks so red- 
There — be ofl" with you to bed, 

Eleanore! 



staj^ dust. 

INNUMERABLE ages since— before 
The sun's gold paled to silver on the moon. 
Or earth ran round to take on both their hues — 
A monstrous bubble, out of chaos blown. 
Swelled through the dusk — grew luminous — and lit 
All space an instant; — then, with ringing shock. 
Burst ! — and from out the jewelled mist there swung 
Millions of stars to glow forevermore ! 



S. D. S.,Jr. " 33 



MY NEW YEAR'S DINNER. 

WITH my friend Bob, for many years, 
My New Year's meal I've eaten. 
Together, o'er *'the cup that cheers", 
We've laughed o'er boyish hopes and fears: 
(How Time such things does sweeten !) 

Our wine we sip, cigars we smoke — 

Both of delicious flavor; 
We give each other's ribs a poke 
At each dear old familiar joke, 

Of somewhat antique savor. 

We're both old fellows, Bob and I, 

I'm single, and he's married; 
And sometimes a reluctant sigh 
Escapes me, as with memory's eye — 

Alas! that hope miscarried. 



34 8. D. S.Jr. 



And Bob 's a happy father, too; 

He has a daughter, Kitty, 
A maid with laughing eyes of blue. 
With face so fair, and heart so true, 

Of speech half wise, half witty. 

I wonder, sometimes, whether she 

Could ever care a button — 
What stuff! a lamb as fair as she 
To mate with an old sheep like me — 
Such very tough old mutton! 

Ah, well! I'm ancient, I'm aware; 

Both face and figure show it. 
And only an old fool would dare 
To dream of one so fresh and fair. 

Thank Heaven, Bob don't know it! 



^. ]i. [^ 35 



J^17JVA WA Y BROOK. 

A DOZEN rods from the rails — 
A dozen yards from the ridge- 
Out of the rustling vales 

A brook flows under the bridge, 
Singing in liquid treble 
Lyrics of root and pebble — 
Whispering tuneful tales 

To minnow and gnat and midge. 

Only a moment lags 

The run where an eddy swirls 
'Neath a fallen birch that sags 

And wets its silvery curls; 
Then off with a laugh of wonder 
The blossoming branches under 
Till over the sunken drags 

Of the channel-grass it purls. 



36 <5. H- l: 



Above, where the narrow stream 
Through the meadow winds and brawls, 

The hurrying shallows gleam 
In meshes for silver thralls — 

Nets of the noon-rays knotted 

For fishes dappled and spotted. 

Cast when a golden beam 
On the broken crystal falls. 

There, sheep come down to drink. 
And cattle stand in the shade 

Of the mulberry on the brink 
Whose boughs the birds invade, 

(Merry robins and thrushes 

Breaking the noon-day hushes) — 

Peering out thro' a chink 
To see where our feet have strayed. 

But down where the brooklet feeds 
The wheel of an ancient mill. 

The murmuring water speeds 

O'er the dam — and its jewels spill 

Over the stones and mosses, 

Mourning never their losses, 

Till they stir the shivering reeds 
Of the river and have their will. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 37 



OLD OCEAN'S EDGE. 

WHERE breaks the sea on rugged rocks 
In nature's fierce caress; 
Where sea-gods toss their dripping locks 

In very sportiveness; 
The spray leaps high toward the sky 
To steal the sunlight's golden dress. 

Where billows bear from out the deep 

The rarest gems they know — 
Fair sprays of fern, whose branches weep 

When torn from those below; 
And dainty shells, whose whisper tells 

Some ocean love-tale, soft and low. 

These treasures at the feet they strew 

Of Mother Earth, and she 
Receives the homage that is due 

The sister of the Sea. 
(Who else could bear in storm or fair 

The sea's caprices patiently?) 



38 S. D. S.,Jr. 

And then the waves go dancing back 

With dip and curtsey low; 
And, see! above their hollows black 

Each tip curls white as snow, 
As, clear and bright amid the night, 

The stars shine out with tender glow. 

Far, far away the tinted sky 
Bends low to meet the sea. 

And racing wavelets ever try. 
In friendly rivalry, 

To reach the place where they embrace- 
'Tis just beyond — eternally. 



<5. H- I- 39 



ABANDONED. 

IN solitude I see it stand, 
Far from the trumpet's blare, 
The wagon of the ^'circus band," 

Bright 'neath the noon-day glare, 
As though a bird of plumage gay, 
Wind-buffeted from out its way, 
Had taken refuge there. 

The school-boy flings his satchel down, 
And scales the fence to stare — 

Unmindful of the hostler's frown — 
At the red stranger, there 

Detained, in lieu of coin or notes, 

To pay for corn and hay and oats, 
The stable's equine fare. 

Though the hot sun doth crack its paint, 

An extra coat it begs; 
Its gilded carvings, rudely quaint, 

Now serve as harness-pegs; 



40 <5. |i. I. 



Straws, scattered from the bursting loft, 
Caught in its box, make hiding soft 
For Dominick her eggs. 

No plume-bedizened horses prance 

Before its stirless wheels. 
No troop of village-urchins dance 

About those horses heels; 
No crimson-visaged ''leader," drest 
In military cap and vest 

Blows brazen-voiced appeals. 

Gone is the pageant's glory! Fled 

As figments of a dream ! 
The rumbling vans of gold and red. 

The trappings' tinselled gleam! 
The emu and the sacred cow. 
The elephants and camels now 

Far-fading phantoms seem! 

'Tis thus the glittering caravan 
Of Life— that "fleeting show"— 

Slow travelling its mortal span, 
Is ofttimes seen to throw 

Some vehicle of song aside; 

Witness, ye poets who have died. 
Abandoned to your woe! 



S. D. S.,Jr. 41 



UNSPOKEN. 

THE greatest words as yet remain unspoken : 
The noblest songs remain as yet unsung; 
But soon the expectant silence will be broken, 
When highest thoughts and songs have found their 
tongue. 

And one, perhaps, whom men know not; who, 

quiet, 
Hath borne a deathless music in his soul. 
May thunder forth above the mad world's riot 
A voice to stir the earth from pole to pole. 

So poet, write! and voice thy songs, musician! 
Repress thou not what Nature meant to be! 
The waiting crown — whatever thy condition — 
Must fall at last on one — why not on thee? 



42 (5. ]i, {. 



THE CAPTIVE QUAIL. 

DOWN the long silence of the roadway dying, 
Drifts ever and anon 
The fitful challenge of a * partridge', trying 
Its liquid clarion. 

Within the casement of a tavern resting, 

Beneath a tattered blind, 
With homely interest the place investing, 

The brown bird stands confined. 

No dreaming upland wakens at the thrilling, 

Delicious bugle notes! 
Only a honeysuckle's sprays are spilling 

The sweetness of their throats. 

No wild bee hums through clustering heads of clover; 

No mower whets his scythe; 
No swift -winged dove a neighboring wood flies over, 

Yet is its music blithe: 



<5. \i. li 43 

Blithe as the mocking taunt that cleaves the hollow 
With burst of sudden sound, 

Luring the farmer's boy with gun to follow 
Through wastes of briered ground. 

For lo ! the ivy on the old church yonder, 

The deep sod at the door, 
The ancient maples bending down to ponder 

Above the graves of yore, 

The little negro whistling in the alley 

A flute-like echo, clear, 
Haply less native are than hill and valley, 

Yet not the less are dear ! 

So with the poets; not to each is given 
The power to rend his thongs ! 

And many a prison-bar stands yet unriven 
'Twixt singers and their songs! 

Still the free wildness of the waving grasses 

Will linger in their lays ! 
Still through the window of each study passes 

The bloom of countless Mays ! 

List! at close intervals repeated quaintly, 
That cheery note is heard — 
** Bob White!" and, passing on, I hear it faintly. 
And bless the lonely bird I 



44 S. D. S.,Jr, 



THE MASQUERADE. 

AMID the masquerading throng 
x\ I stood ; and watched, and wondered long. 

I never will forget 
The accidents of light and shade, 
By brilliant costumes' splendor made — 

My mind reflects them yet. 

But more the characters attract: 
'Neath dresses' fiction lay the fact, 

Below the mask the face. 
My self-set task it was to find, 
Through outward signs the inner mind — 

The bosom through the lace. 

So {^^ place aux dames^), the women there — 
A motley crowds both dark and fair — 

They seemed to have no shame. 
I saw one, fair, and sweet, and pure, 
(O sacrilege!) as Pompadour, 

Nor thought herself to blame. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 45 

And, ^vice versa,^ one of whom 
The gossips of the smoking room 

Told many a risque tale ; 
Thinking, no doubt, to thus refute 
What was, perchance, but ill repute, 

Wore a nun's hood and veil. 



But when the night began to wane. 
Beside a monk, with much champagne, 

And laughter like its froth, 
I saw her raise the sparkling glass, 
(Ah! that such things should come to pass!) 

And, mocking, toast their cloth. 

And men as well did show, forsooth. 
Such travesties of simple truth, 

I scarce believed my eyes. 
Paupers as kings, and kings as slaves, 
(The former's case my mercy craves. 

Their wish bred their disguise.) 

Bachelors, gayer than their age. 
Turning life's book back, page by page, 

To youth — past many a year; 
Whispered its echo — though but faint — 
In ears that offered no restraint. 

Only too fain to hear. 



46 S. D. S.,Jr. 



And married men incognito, 
Hurrying, bee-like, to and fro, 

Improving shining hours, 
Bore married women on their arms. 
Their wives? Not so. Alas! //^^/r charms 

Had long since lost their powers. 



Enough! The more I write, the more 
I see of evil than before, 

And 'Moral's' not my line. 
But some one asks, *'And what were you. 
That you can speak as here you do, 

O fool! of Folly's shrine?" 

*'I as a poet went — as one 
Who sings high deeds of valor done 

And love's delight — and pain." 
I'm still in character to-night. 
And pray these lines may earn my right 
To let the masque remain. 



^^]i. 



47 



UNDER THE FINES. 

IN the canon he lies at rest, 
And above him the calm gray skies 
Look down on his clotted breast 

With its round red wound, and the eyes 
Set wide in a fierce surprise. 

Afar, by a singing stream 

Whose burden she cannot hear, 

A woman waits in the gleam 
Of the waning west, and her ear 
Is strained with a growing fear. 

Ah ! well may she clasp her child 
With a moan and a shuddering start, 

For a cry comes up from the wild. 
Deep wood, and her wan lips part 
With the agony at her heart ! 



48 ^- }^- Ic 



Mid the scant and scattered stars 
The swollen moon droops low; 

And it turns into silver bars 

The storm-stripped pines that throw 
The dark of their crests below. 

And down in the olive gloom, 

Where the broken beams scarce fall 

On the dead man and his doom, 
The wild wood-flowers o'er all 
Are weaving a tear-strewn pall. 



AT THE EDGE OE A SHOWER. 

^ROM the curtains of gray and of gold, 
From the vaporous regions of cloud, 
A delicate jewel was rolled, 

Like a diamond out of a shroud. 
And I — who was there with the crowd. 

Without an umbrella — suppose 
That the maid of the mist was allowed 
To weep on the end of my nose. 



So D. S., Jr, 49 



A WOMAN'S WEAPONS. 

'^T^HERE'S a smile, and a glance, and a blush, 

L and a sigh, 

And perhaps, on occasion, a tear; 
There's a delicate touch of a hand on the sly, 

And a flower she may wear when he^s near. 

There's a note in her voice that but one may awake, 
And a gleam in her blue (or brown) eye; 

There's a kiss on her lips that some fellow may take, 
(Now why the deuce isn't it I?) 

There's the turn of an ankle, the size of a waist, 
And the way that she does up her hair; 

There's the fit of a glove, and, according to taste. 
The tint of the dress she may wear. 

There are words that are often but semi-expressed, 

And some are hid others below; 
For instance, a ''yes" may be frequently guessed 

Through a clearly reversible ''no." 



so S. D. S.,Jr. 

Yet her infinite change is her strongest of arms, 

As the song says, ^^Femme souvent varie;^^ 
But what does she want with such numberless charms 
, When one of them finishes me? 



QUATRAINS. 

I. 

TWIN roses war with lilies on her cheeks. — 
Her lips a rosebud torn in two, yet clinging; 
Despite the pain they smile, and when she speaks 
It seems as though that broken flower were singing. 

II. 

Upon her bosom lies a fair white rose. 

Its heart to hers — each as the other pure — 

Against her breast the rose's pallor shows 

Twin snowflakes, nestling close in love secure. 



e J^. I, 51 



THE POET TO HIS LYRE, 



After Anacreon. 



" But still its fainting sighs repeat, 
' The tale of love alone is sweet !' " 
— Moore's Translation. 

I SANG of men long dead and gone; 
Of deeds heroic done in heat 
Of battle, — and thou breath'dst anon: 
''The tale of love alone is sweet!" 

The praise of wine my song took up; 

Thou follow 'dst with but laggard feet, 
And sighed, above the brimming cup : 
''The tale of love alone is sweet!" 

Fair fame and worldly wealth I sang, 

And thus my singing did'st thou greet- 
This utterance from thy bosom sprang: 
"The tale of love alone is sweet!" 



52 <5. }\. I: 



Spirit! for this I chant no lays 

Of hearts that nevermore may beat,- 

Of wine nor wealth nor war's affrays — 
*'The tale of love alone is sweet! " 



CUPID DECEIVED. 

LOVE, my soul's tenant, looking through my eyes 
^ From lodgment new in my now empty heart, 
Saw his own semblance — like in every part — 
Within those orbs o'er which thy lashes rise. 
And, being one who doth companions prize, 
He smiled; and when his image used like art, 
Straightway emboldened, forward he did start 
To greet with kisses his reflected guise. 

A little flight, and lo! his blithe advance 

Met cruel cheeky for, like a storm-blown bird 
Dashed against glowing crystal, down he fell. 

Poor cheated fool ! — then looked he round askance, 
Seeking his lure; and saw how he had erred, 
And how Love's mirror broken lay as well. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 53 



LOVE AND A COMPASS. 

TO the north of her mouth, east and west of 
her eyes, 
By the curls of her tresses half hidden, 
Two ears, of the tiniest, daintiest size, 
Are kissed by the breezes unbidden. 

And right to the north of each exquisite cheek 
Lie her eyes, of a brilliancy tender. 

Their color I know not, but in them I seek 
Some sign of approaching surrender. 

Due north of the dimple that hides in her chin. 
Two lips conceal music behind them; 

And when a smile plays on them, Cupids begin 
To break from the bonds that confine them. 

Just south of her chin stands a full rounded throat, 
Whose whiteness than marble is whiter; 

Southeast and southwest of it, shoulders I note — 
No curves are more graceful, or lighter. 



54 S. D. S.,Jr. 

In the south of her bosom, a bit to the west, 
Is the greatest of all of her beauties: 

My loadstar's the heart that is hid in her breast; 
To obey it's my sweetest of duties. 



IN WINTER. 

OROSETREE stripped of all thy lovely 
flowers — 
Flowers that rejoiced my heart in summer's hours — 
Sigh not that now thy frost-chilled stems are bare; 
Next summer's sun will make thee fair. 

O heart despond not in thy deepest woe! 
Know that the happiest now have once been so. 
Trust time to give thy present wearying rest; 
Thy love, if strong, will make thee blest. 



^. ]i. {. 55 



OUTWARD BOUND. 



A Heart's Sailing. 



w 



HITHER away? — for what harbor unfurled 
Flutter thy sails? Wilt thou circle the 
world? — 



Turn the low waves of antipodal seas? — 
Sight the leaf-plumage of tropical trees? 

Or, like a warm-breasted sea-bird, go forth, 
White-wing' d, to brave the white storms of the 
North? 

Barque! will the mild equatorial moons 
Lure thee to anchor in azure lagoons ? 

Heart! must the chill of the northernmost sea 
Wound thee to death that now wingeth so free? 

Answers it not, — dropping over the rim 
Of the horizon to spirit-lands dim. 



56 S. D. S.Jn 



OPHELIA, 



Adapted from the French of Henry Murger. 



^ N bed of sand, among the reeds, 
The hurrying brook intones a song; 
Ophelia, leaning over, long 
Watches her child-face framed in weeds. 

And while she thinks, **How fair am I ! " 
The brook lays gently at her feet 
A water-flower of perfume sweet, 

And, singing still, goes rushing by. 

She braids the flower within her hair. 
Then leaning forward looks again. 
The flower seems like a ruddy stain 

Against her tresses golden fair. 

A flower of Heaven — a brilliant star — 
Beams on the brow of coming Night; 
And, like Ophelia, with delight 

Watches its image from afar. 



S. D. S-Jr. 57 



There, shining like a priceless gem 
Upon the brook's caressing breast, 
The maiden sees this jewel rest; 

And, clinging to a slender stem, 

Puts forth her hand and clasps it o'er 
The flitting image of the star. 
Which, dancing for a moment, far 

Allures Ophelia from the shore. 



That night they found her dripping veil — 
And now she lies beside the stream: 
The star upon her grave will beam 

Forever, and the brook will wail. 



58 <5. |^. I^ 



TRIOLETS, 

A Corsage Bouquet. 

MYRTILLA, to-night, 
Wears Jacqueminot roses. 
She's the loveliest sight! 
Myrtilla, to-night: — 
Correspondingly light 

My pocketbook closes. 
Myrtilla, to-night, 

'^ Qdx^ Jacqueminot roses. 



A Kiss. 

You ask me what's a kiss? 

'Tis Cupid's keenest arrow! 
A thing to take a "miss" — 
(You ask me what's a kiss?) 
The brink of an abyss ! 

A lover's pathway, narrow. 
You ask me what's a kiss? 

'Tis Cupid's keenest 2,xr:oyN\ 



e l^. I: 59 



To AN Autumn Leaf. 

Wee shallop of shimmering gold ! 

Slip down from your ways in the branches. 
Some fairy will loosen your hold — 
Wee shallop of shimmering gold — 
Spill dew on your bows and unfold 

Silk sails for the fairest of launches! 
Wee shallop of shimmering gold, 

Slip down from your ways in the branches! 

A Late Supper. 

The moon is a cup 

With nectar o'erflowing. 

The sun drinks it up — 

The moon is a cup, 

And Phoebus must sup 

At Alectryon's crowing. — 

The moon is a cup. 

With nectar o'erflowing. 



6o 



S. D. S.,Jr. 



J A CK LOQ UirUR. 

TELL you, old fellow, I've got it, and badly: 
I've stuck it out long, but I'm cornered at last. 
The truth of it is I'm in love with her — madly; 
And — I might as well tell you — my Rubicon's 

passed. 

*'You know that last party we v/ent to together? 
Well, that was the night of the fateful event. 
We danced — \ was clumsy, she light as a feather — 
Then forth from the heat of the ballroom we went. 

"We found a dark corner away from the dancers, 
And sat down to rest — pretty close, I confess — 
I had just heard the music begin on ' The Lancers,' 
When I got myself into the following mess: — 

"We were talking of — nothing; just flirting a trifle; 
She looked ?,o piquante, so provokingly meek, 
That, obeying an impulse a saint could not stifle, 
I leaned forward and kissed her right square on 
the cheek. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 6i 

"Imagine my feelings when, 'stead of upbraiding, 
She blushed like a poppy, and started to weep; 
When she murmured, the while her cheeks' 

crimson was fading, 
*0h. Jack! '—it was 'Mr. ' before—//^// cheap I 

*' 'Are you awfully angry, my darling, my dearest?' 
(I v/as bound I'd endeavor her pardon to gain) 
And I stammered in words that were none of 

the clearest, 
'Don't you know that I love you, and can't 

cause you pain?' 

"'You have caused me pain: are you sorry you 
kissed me?' 
'Yes — no — that is — I didn't mean to offend. 
I'll try to be good, dear, if you will assist me.' 
'I will, if you'll promise your manners to mend. ' 

"So I swore I'd ne'er kiss her again, and, half 
joking, 
I turned to go off, but the witch had me caged, 
And she said, with a blush and a smile so pro- 
voking, 
'Why, it isn't wrong now^ Jack, you know we're 
engaged P " 



62 



^. }1. I: 



MARCH WINDS AND APRIL SHO WERS. 

THE herald, March, hath ridden through the 
land, 
Astride his airy courser; and, anon, 
Deep in the leafless forest making stand, 
Hath wound the 'larum of his clarion: 
Bidding brown roots and swelling buds to fling 
Slumber aside and greet the advancing spring! 

Now April's rain is knocking at the door 
Of every violet. And lo ! ere long — 
Hearing the redbreast's serenading song-^ 

Their sweet blue eyes will open by the shore 
Of many a grassy run or rippling rill. 
Sparkling adown the green slope of a hill ! 



S. D. S.,Jr. 63 



THE POETS AIM. 

TO mark the shrinking shiver of a leaf, 
Hugging its neighbor close when chill winds 
blow; 
To sorrow with the dying rose's grief, 

And all the rosebud's growing gladness know; 

To find within each bird's sweet, heart-sprung note 
The secret that its tiny breast contains; 

To learn from vagrant winds that idly float 
The mysteries of distant hills and plains; 

To know old nature's every mood and whim. 
To love her in them all, or keen or kind; 

To note the eye of day grow slowly dim, 
That night's new glories may be unconfined; 

From love's own self to know that love exists, 
To smile or weep as love would have him do; 

To hold love fast through doubt's heart-saddening 
mists, 
Kissing with tear-wet lips his eyes of blue; 



64 S. D. S.5 jr. 



This is the poet's aim — to be aware 
Of all a less fine nature would let slip; 

To toil, and wait till, soft as summer air, 
Fame touches him with rarely amorous lip. 



A SHORTHAND SONNET. 

CAN the rose, 
Fresh and fair, 
Tell the air 
How it grows? 
I suppose 

That her hair 
Unaware 
Golden glows. 

That her eyes 

Shine so blue 
With surprise 

That they do. 
Her I prize. 

Wouldn't you? 



^ }^. I, 65 



FARM FRUITS, 

A LITTLE ancient man — who wore 
A tall hat, many seasons o'er 
Its days of shining. 
And made to fit his shrunken head 
With padding of bandanna, red. 
Within the lining — 

Came often down the dusty road 
Which passed the door of our abode j 

And sometimes tarried 
To sell the sweet farm fruit that lay 
Within a basket lined with hay — 

The which he carried. 

I shall not soon forget his face, 
Perspiring with the sturdy pace 

He ever travelled ; 
Nor that primeval waistcoat which 
Seemed wholly formed of patch and stitch, 
" Much frayed and ravelled. 



66 



^ H- 1. 



In springtime, when the violets peeped • 
Through tears in which their eyes were steeped 

Each dewy morning, 
He heard the wood-thrush tune his throat 
Up to one high delirious note, 

All rivals scorning ! 

In autumn, when his worn hat-brim 
Caught the gay leaves that fell on him, 

He brought ripe apples : — 
Great golden '* Bell-flowers" — rubbed so bright 
They seemed to hold the rich noon light 

In mellow dapples. 

I wonder if he walks to-day 
The *' cross-ties" of the iron way 

Through "Olney" running? 
If now — along the " O. & M." 
On Saturdays he weareth them — 

Those clothes so 'stunning'? 

Haply: — And yet more likely 'tis 

That Life — being done with him and his — 

Long since forsook him ! 
And that — while I a tribute pen — 
His neighbors scarce remember when 

Death overtook him! 



<5. H- 1^ 6^ 



TEN LINES ON TENNIS. 

A/T Y heart it is a temtis ball, 

And gay ly do you whack it; 
I strike — 7'ebound; I fly, I fall — 
/ tumble to your racket. 

O lady of the vernal court! 

My heart is sore entangled 
In Cupid's net, whereto in sport 

Your fair arm — silver-bangled — 
Hath struck it (a poor tennis ball) 
To play another at its fall ! 



68 



<^.}{.[, 



A ROMAN SINGER. 



"HoRATius Flaccus, B, C. 8." 
There's not a doubt about the date, — 
You're dead and buried. 

— Austin Dobson. 



A DUODECIMO in yellow boards, 
Red linen back and light-blue paper label; 
''Horace by Francis," — this it is affords 

The ''guardian keys" to fancies that enable 
Me to draw boldly on the Muse's hoards; — 
Even this little volume on my table. 

The title neatly lettered — pen and ink; 

Edges uncut, by Time and touch soiled sadly; 
Within, a portrait — copper-plate, I think — 

Engraved by W. Wise, — the eyes look badly 
(The poet ^^^weak eyes) and seem to blink: 

They would have welcomed spectacles right 
gladly. 



<5. |^. I,. 69 

The next page shows two lovers, — 'neath the 
twain 
This couplet, cut in slim italics faintly: — 
" Clear was the Night, the face of Heaven Serene ^^^ 
(The capitals are introduced here quaintly, — ) 
^^ Bright shone the Moon (a) midst her Starry 
train.^^ 
The whole effect more classical than saintly — 

As is befitting. Then the publishers : — 
"T. & J. Allman, Gt. Queen Str't,"— and 
after, 
''Lincoln's Inn Fields," — the which all here 
occurs 
Sandwiched 'twixt ''London" and the date, — 
as laughter 
Breaks between merry sayings and defers 

Utterance of bons-7nois that will shake the 
rafter. 

The date aforesaid; 1826, — 

Which makes it eight and fifty golden sum- 
mers, 
Or silver winters, since from out the mix 

Of a town book-stall, open to all comers. 
Some scholar bought it and burnt midnight wicks 
Perusing it and sipping strong punch 'rum- 
mers.' 



70 ^. ]i, 



A short ^'Life" of the author comes before 
The '*Odes" and "Satires" and ^'Epistles," 
telling 

The story of his fleeing in the war 

At Philippi; — how he desired a dwelling 

Far from the crowd, and how his head was hoar 
At forty, and his figure roundly swelling 

To comfortable stoutness, which agreed 

With his small stature and convivial manner; 

All these particulars we herein read; — 

Likewise how he was sure that on the banner 

Of Fame his rhymes would down the ages speed. 
(Hi's muse had more than flattery to fan her.) 

Then, too, this tiny volume (on my soul! 

'Tis gossip,) tells how great Augustus Caesar 
Sent him a '^little, short, thick" book or scroll, 

And, veiling the mild tyrant in the teaser. 
Compared the poet to the parchment roll, — 

(This from Suetonius unto you and me^ sir.) 

Thrice happy bard, to win Maecenas' heart! 

Small wonder that thou perished in thy sorrow 
At his decease. When such rare spirits part 

It is to meet again upon the morrow — 
As when one drinks a cup of deadliest art, 

Another from dead lips his death may borrow. 



Rest thou in peace ! Thy soul within my hand 
Waits to commune with a congenial spirit. 

Methinks Time's slender thread of glittering 
sand 
Runs upward in the hour-glass. I can hear it 

Leading away the barrier years that stand 
Between this age and thine, as I draw near it. 

1884. 



72 S. D. S.,Jr. 



AN INVENTORY— WITH COMMENTS. 



I 



TEM: Some hair — soft, golden brown. 
She wears it as it were a crown. 



Item: Two eyes. They look at me, 
Although there's little here to see. 

Item: Two lips. To sing, speak, kiss. 
In none of these are they amiss. 

Item: A smile. It flits away 
Ere I its beauties can portray. 

Item: Two hands — so fair and fine. 
Too fair, I fear, to mate with mine. 

Item: Two feet. To kick, in play. 
The follies of the world away. 

Item: Her dress. Alas! we men 
Cannot describe beyond our ken. 

Item: A voice. Its music stirs 
The heartstrings of her worshippers ; 



S. D. S.,Jr. 73 



Each note those flower-like lips set free 
A rosebud's perfume seems to me. 

Item: Four words. My heart's consoled — 
"I love you, too" — and all is told. 



OF MISSTRESSE LUCE:— HER EYES. 

ILOOKE atte Misstresse Luce: her Eyes, 
& doe admire them moste sincerelye: 
Butte whenne she turnes those Orbs on me 

1 must confesse my Harte feeles queerlye. 

Y^ Skye atte nighte does not afforde 

2 Stars of more entrancynge twynkle, 
& whenne she laughs, around theyre Sides 

Does playe a moste bewitchynge wrynkle, 

Butte whenne she weeps ye Teares obscure 

Ye Love-Lighte softe withinne them glowynge— 

Yet, as we now are soone toe wedde, 

Withe Kisses I doe stoppe theyre flowynge. 



74 e ]{. I, 



MELEAGER TO LESBIA. 



Cupid Disarmed. 



" 1\ /T ^THINKS that thou hast fallen on Love 
..VX asleep, 

And prest his little wings down to the earth, 
And stolen his bow and quiver of darts in mirth — 
Quelling with small soft hands his rage divine; 
Nor yet relenting when the pearled brine 
Grew in his eyes, hast mocked, and bidden him 

weep 
O'er a flower-cup half filled with dewy wine; 

When, having bound his tender limbs with gold 
And silken ribbons from thy golden hair, 
Thou'st spill'd his tears and forced him to forswear 
All thoughts of bending at thy heart his bow. 
Then thou hast loosed his bonds and watched him 

go— 
Shorn of his strength and something wan and old — 
Winging his way with labored flight and slow." 



S. D. S.,Jr. 75 



TRIO. 

[She.] 

'^\ A Z^^'T must he think?" she whispers low, 

V V Her cheek with sudden blush aflame. 
**How could I thus my feeling show? 

My eyes betrayed my heart, I know. 

Ah! would that his would do the same! 

"If I should give some little thing — 
More tangible than look or smile — 
A flower — perhaps this tiny ring — 
It might ?,om& half confession bring: 
No — that's too bold — I'll wait awhile." 

[He.] 
'* Great Heavens! what a fool I've been! 

To sit there all the evening through, 

Say ^yes' — 'exactly so' — and grin. 

And all the while my heart within 

Was beating loud enough for two. 



76 S. D. S.,Jr. 



**Now, if I only had the cheek 
To tell her, in straightforward style, 
What makes me so confounded weak 
When I'm with her — but I ^^^^V speak, 
Just yet, at least — I'll wait awhile." 

I stand apart and watch them both, 
To find amusement nothing loth; 
And while I watch I wonder whether 
These fools will ever come together. 



SACRIFICE. 

Y lady passes by. A sweet perfume 

Floats from her every garment on the air. 
As if the roses, in their best of bloom, 
Knowing her beauty was beyond compare, 
As token of their knowledge yielded up 
The essence of their lives — their very breath — 
And all the fragrance of each dewy cup 
Survives in her its giver's blessed death. 



^. ]i. I: 77 



CLOVER HAY. 



A Metamorphosis. 



I 

AHUNDRED hurrying passers-by 
Melt in the air and quit the eye: 
The roar of traffic doth become 
The murmur of the wild bee's hum: 
Pavements of granite — gaunt and gray- 
In verdant meadows stretch away, 
And, in the tall bleak houses' stead, 
Green hedges bloom in white and red. 

II. 

All these, because adown the street 
There drifts a perfume, fine and sweet, 
From a great wagon; — whereon looms 
A mountain of dried clover-blooms. 
Swaying atop, 'neath broad hat -brim, 
A farmer — sitting — cracks his slim 
Long whip-lash round the dusty sides 
Of his stout horses as he rides. 



78 S. D. So, Jr. 



SA CARTE DBS DAN SB S. 

A DAINTY trifle, silk and lace, 
All white and palest blue; 
A pencil hangs below the place 
Where it is bent in two. 

A silken cord upon her arm 
So soft, and round, and white, 

Suspends, secure from every harm, 
This little book to-night. 

Within the tiny tome I glance; 

The ball has just begun, 
But someone's taken every dance. 

She might have saved me one. 

I look along the list of names, 

And looking there I see 
That every waltz some fellow claims 

Whose name begins with D. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 79 

I'm hurt, and say so in a way 

I fear is scarce polite. 
But, as I turn, I hear her say, 

"Don't leave me so to-night!" 

Then, with a sudden, tender smile, 
She whispers, ** Don't look blue; 

You might have known it all the while. 
The D was meant for U ! " 



'MY LADY WEEPS— AT TIMES: 

HER brow is marked by unaccustomed frowns. 
Tear-dews her cheeks' unfading roses show; 
No smile is on her lips' sweet ups and downs — 
Cupid, the rogue, abandons Cupid's bow; 

He hides no more among her wavering curls. 
Her dimples urge him to no sweet emprise; 

But— ah! I see him as his wings he furls — 
I knew he could not leave those perfect eyes. 



80 S. D. S., )r. 



A TIME-WORN TALE. 

WHEN for Old Orchard Beach I departed, 
With my pocketbook full — glad and gay, 
I ne'er thought I'd return broken-hearted; 
Broken pocketbooked too, by the way. 

In the usual way, there I met her 
(The charmer, I hardly need say); 

Though I hate her I'll never forget her, 
For she captured my heart the first day. 

By wire-pulling, worked with discretion, 

I got into her own special clique^ 
And I yielded, and made a confession 

Within the short space of a week. 

She was sorry she never could love me; 

Regretted to notice my ** weeps"; 
But she swore by the heavens above me, 

"Didn't know I was Splaying for keeps.' " 



<5. H. l 81 



QUATJ^A/JVS. 

Time and EfERNiTY. 

WHEN Life and Death clasp hands to part no 
more, 
When the wide wings of Earth no longer soar, 
Time's pathway through the Eternal Heavens 
will gleam 
Brief as the passing of a meteor. 

An Old Thought. 
Framed in the cavernous fireplace sits a boy. 

Watching the embers from his grandsire's knee: 
One sees red castles rise, and laughs with joy; 

The other marks them crumble, silently. 

Love's Rosary. 
Even as a brook, 'mid wild wood-flowers. 

Binds with linked ripples dell to dell; 
Love's silver thread unites the hours. 

Which are but beads for him to tell. 



82 



S. D, S.,Jr. 



CHANSON DE LA FRANCO- 
AMERICAINE. 

OH! yes, I've just come from Paree, 
Mais Old! 
That heavenly city, Paree, 

Pardi! 
J^ ai rapporte most beautiful dresses, 
And la derniere jnode as to my tresses, 
And a very choice lot of argot, 
Just to show- 
That I vraiment have been to Paree. 

I would swear by the ^^nom dhm chien'^ 

Pour rien, 
I have the true chic Parisien 

Tres Men. 
I have Judic's last wink, so expressive, 
And Bernhardt' s triste smile, so d7/pressive. 
Add to these the French yV ne sais quoi, 

And, mafoi, 
I am dangerous,/^ vous previens. 



S. D. S.,Jr. 83 



I scarce speak a word of anglais, 

C est vrai. 
I have been such siecles away 

Allez! 
Bwt fran^ais I can jabber forever, 
I'd be thought tme Americaine never. 
But helas! my matttan and mon pere 

So vulgaireSy 
Spoil my neatest effects every day. 

I am now looking for tm man, 

J^vous dis. 
An elderly wealthy /«/-// 

Ausst, 
Who won't mind if he finds me expensive, 
But will open un credit extensive. 
And if any one knows where I can 

Find that man, 
And will tell me, I'm Vvs,, pour la vie ! 



84 



RESCUED. 

Within, the luinber-roorn I found 

A volume old and tatte^-ed 
As those which bring "a cent a pound'''' 

When libraries are scattered. 
I read it through ; then closed my eyes — 

I think that must have been it — 
For when I woke, to my surprise. 

These lines were written in it : — 

" A QUIET corner, — such as you may find 
l\. In houses occupied by persons kind 
To such as I am; — one of those warm nooks 
Set with an easy-chair and pleasant books, — 
In short, the favorite window of a study, 
Or its round table when the lamp is ruddy. 

"The walls at hand showing some pictures, etched, 
Or rarely painted; bric-d-brac, far-fetched, 
Laid here and there; quaint carvings; curious 

swords — 
A hundred things from old collectors' hoards, 
Taking, at dusk, the tint of gold or jewel 
When wood-flames leap above the crumbling fuel. 



^.]i. 



85 



*'In this to find, 'mid volumes of old rhymes, 
A resting place where I would catchy at times, 
My owner's eye; so that, with reverent touch. 
He'd lift me up and turn to such and such 
A page whereon the thought moves fresh and 

glowing 
As a sweet girl afoot where' t has been snowing. 

"Ah! happy lot. But no, — left to myself 
To gather dust on this neglected shelf, 
A deep, unbroken gloom envelops me — 
An inexpressible despondency: — 
Buif hark! — a footstep — can it be he comes? 
Now for new comradeship with old-time chums /^^ 



86 



S. D. §., Jr. 



ITS A WAY WE HAVE— IN SOCIETY. 

I DANCE three sweet successive dances 
With one fair girl. 
She gives me most bewitching glances 
As round we whirl. 

We dance, we sup, we talk together; 

I did not know 
So interesting was the weather, 

So fair the snow. 

By chance next morning with her meeting, 

I bow my head. 
I might have spared my cordial greeting — 

She cuts me — dead. 

My senses quickly come together, 

And now I know 
How wretched is this beastly weather. 

How vile the snow. 



^. \i. {, 87 



TJI^ HOLLOW OF THE SEA. 

THE sun has thrown aside in flight 
His crimson vestiture; and red 
With shame for fleeing, swift has fled 
Through the wide portal of the night. 

And now a silver-footed fay 

Comes, leaping from pale crest to crest 
Of the rapt sea, to tell the west 

How, thitherward, at shut of day, 

Come^' Dian's armed girls to roam 

O'er crystal plains. Saw you the splash 
Of yon barbed arrow and the flash 

Of white wings 'mid the whitei* foam? 

Ah! there is treasure more for me * 
In this than in all gleaming stones 
And ores that lie 'mid dead men's bones 

Held in the hollow of the sea! 



88 



S. D. Sc, Jr« 



TO PEGASUS. 



From the French of Victor Hugo. 



SHOULD the past again come back 
With its horrid, dark despair, 
Opening wide a chasm black. 
Make, O steed, its darkness fair. 

Not for naught thy iron feet 
Gallop o'er the depthless sea; 

Thee the heavens' splendors greet — 
Let their light thy herald be. 

Traverse all — the graves, and hell — 

Precipices — chaos — lies — 
Let thy hoofs thy coming tell 

Through the dome whence dreams arise. 

As a smith his anvil beats, 

Come thou down upon the gloom. 

All its darkest, deep retreats 
Tawny traveller illume! 



S. D. S.,Jr. 89 



Serve men, though from them thy flight — 
Angry though the heavens remain — 

Though the sky is never bright 

O'er their heads, bowed low by pain. 

Though the void a forest be — 

Ebon blackness all confine- 
Though no ray of light we see. 

With those fearful feet of thine 

Flash thy light where shadows lie — 
Show the truth beneath its veils — 

Crowd upon this inky sky 

Stars whose splendor never pales ! 



90 <$. j^. I^ 



THE REDBREAST. 



Rondeau, 



IN country lanes the robins sing, 
Clear-throated, joyous, swift of wing, 
From misty dawn to dewy eve 
(Though cares of nesting vex and grieve) 
Their little heart-bells ring and ring. 

And when the roses say to Spring : 
'Your reign is o'er," when breezes bring 
The scent of sprays that lovers weave 
In country lanes, 

The redbreast still is heard to fling 
His music forth; and he will cling 
To Autumn till the winds bereave 
Her yellowing trees. Nor will he leave 
Till Winter finds him shivering 
In country lanes. 



S. D. S.Jfo 91 



UNANSWERED. 

O JAPANESE bird on the gilded screen, 
With your legs at an angle wide; 
With your wings outspread and your head between, 
And your neck in a bow-knot tied. 
If you only could speak 
With your yellowish beak. 
What secrets would you confide? 

O tell me, my friend, as you've screened the face 

Of your dear little mistress, Rose — 
With her clear blue eyes, and her dainty grace — 
Who blooms as her namesake blows. 
Have you heard lovers sigh 
(As, for instance, did I)? 
Have you heard them, perhaps, propose ? 

Have you known them to swear that they held her 

dear 
(You remember 'twas that /swore)? 
Have they stammered, and trembled 'twixt hope 

and fear 



92 S. D. S., Jr. 

(I wished I could sink through the floor)? 

And the answers you've heard; 

Tell me, beautiful bird, 
Has she ever said *yes' — before? 

Has she ever, by chance, dropped the slightest hint 

That she liked me, a little mite? 
Have you noticed her cheek take a deeper tint 
When I happened to come in sight? 
What! nothing to say? 
Well, she'll tell me — some day; 
I'll forgive you, old fellow. Good night! 



(5. ]{. \^ 93 



AJV A UTUMN RAMBLE IN THE 
CATSKILLS. 

WE wandered from the mountain's crest 
To where, high poised above the vale, 
Grim as a warrior in his mail, 
A giant boulder stood at rest; — 

And far beneath us, like a chain 

Of silver linked with burnished steel. 
The Hudson sparkled to the keel 

Of many a ship, that to the main 

Bore down her cargo; and we saw 

One of those long barge-fleets that steam 
Toward Albany, far up the stream. 

Laden with bricks from Haverstraw. 

It seemed we stood upon the brim 
Of some vast basin, and looked down 
On what — though now the farm and town 

Checkered its area to the rim — 



94 <5. ]i. [. 



Had one time been a vast expanse 
Of waters, stretching to the far 
Blue Highlands and the hills that are 

New England's famed inheritance. 

Rooted in many a seam and gash, 

Dwarf laurels rose, and ferns upraised 
Their emerald plumage 'neath where blazed 

The berries of the mountain-ash; 

And balsams, hid in sun-warmed pines, 
Breathed out such fragrance that it blent 
With rising dew-mist, and the scent 

Of spice-shrubs and of odorous vines, 

Till in one dusky, windless glade, 
Slow airs, made heavy with the sweet 
Warm burden, bathed our idle feet 

With perfumes; and we seemed to wade 

Through pools of incense, glorified 
By arrowy sun-shafts that slid down 
Ethereal airways in the crown 

Of a wood monarch at our side! 

So we went on; till, at the base 
Of a steep, rocky slope, we found 
Two lakes — twin jewels — set around 

With mirrored hemlocks ; and the grace 



e }^. I: 95 



Of twilight fell about us there 

As the sun sank; and one lone star 
Peeped o'er the purple ridge afar, 

Scarce brighter than a fire -fly's glare. 

Then, ere we climbed the rugged way 
Of foot-worn, lichened rocks that led 
Up the sharp steep, we saw where sped 

A streamlet, flinging its soft spray 

Over the roots and moss-capt stones 
That marked its pathway through the wood. 
And heard, as at its side we stood. 

Its sweet, unconscious undertones. 

And, farther up, again we heard 
This spirit of the mountain spring, 
Winged with bright crystal, fluttering 

Beneath us like a startled bird ; 

And lingered, listening to its fall. 
Till the red West grew dim and gray 
And pallid ; and the young moon lay 

Slender and brilliant over all ! 



96 Q. \i. {. 



THE FIRST LYRIC, 

A CERTAIN poet, seeking a sublime 
And lucid thought for his melodious rhyme, 
Plucked a gay feather from a flying mood — 
Smilingly wrote; — then strove, in solitude, 
Still to conceive and with his song to twine 
Some rare creation — virginal — divine ! 

Then, deeming all the fancies late set down 
But the faint rustlings of the muse's gown. 
Despaired; and would have flung his pen away 
Had not a spirit gently whispered: ^^Stay! 
See' st thou not, within the lines first wrought, 
A treasure rich as any thou hast soitght?^^ 



